


Go

by sensitivebore



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 06:01:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sensitivebore/pseuds/sensitivebore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carson and Hughes, and the rules of propriety.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go

Carson brushes past a stray footman irritably, almost knocking the boy aside. It's been a particularly irritating day, between his footmen thinking they were on some kind of holiday and this new maid stepping out of line. He wonders if they've just had a bad string of luck or if he and Elsie are just terrible judges of character. There are days when he is crabby, yes, and he works his staff hard, certainly, but surely he's not done anything to deserve this group of layabouts.

Well, at least the maid was sorted. She had been a disaster from the moment she stepped foot into the house, making eyes and flirting with Tom Branson, meeting him a public house. The truth of it was, he could hardly blame the girl. She was only following the example that Branson himself had set — after all, what was he but a jumped-up chauffeur that had made off with the daughter of the big house? Why shouldn't Edna get ideas? But, of course, she had to go; she had upset everyone and everything and the housekeeper had packed her bag personally, escorted her to the back door. For some reason that Carson is unsure of, Elsie had insisted on giving her a good reference, though they both agreed that service was hardly a proper fit for her.

Speaking of the housekeeper, where had she gotten to? She's not reading at the table as she often does before dinner, and she's not in her office, and he hadn't seen her upstairs. He hopes letting the girl go hasn't upset her, he knows she gets tenderhearted about her maids, about all of the younger staff, really. She'll internalize it, he's sure, blame herself for not somehow reading minds, for not somehow forecasting the future.

The back door slams shut with more force than necessary and there she is, striding to her office door with her head down, with her arms crossed, and he follows, touches her shoulder lightly as she unlocks the door. She glances over her shoulder, sighs, allows him to enter behind her and shuts the door.

"I've just been walking with Edna to the village; I wanted to talk with her a bit before she left us." Elsie pulls off her worn cardigan, replaces it with the cover-up that matches her gown, sighs.

He watches her with speculative eyes. "You know it's not your fault. She chose to break the rules, you could hardly predetermine that in an interview."

Elsie shrugs a little. "That'll be a cold comfort to her when she's looking for another job. She's not the only one that breaks those particular rules, you know."

Carson holds up his hands, raises his brows. "You don't have to tell me. Branson has caused an uproar in this house from the first day he stepped in it. And the girl can't be blamed for seeing that he was quite successful at — making the climb, I suppose." He grimaces; he can't stand the impudent boy any more now than he could then, really, but facts were facts. Branson is one of the upstairs now and that is that.

Elsie clips her keys to her sash with impatient, angry fingers. "No one's talking about Mr. Branson."

He looks at her in surprise, in confusion. "Then what are we talking about?" Carson turns, watches her as she gets the work rotas out, throws them on her desk.

"No one, Mr. Carson. No one." She pulls out her chair, drops heavily into it, uncaps her pen. It's an obvious dismissal, a see-yourself-out gesture, and he stares at her back for a long moment.

He reaches out then, but he doesn't know what he's reaching for. Absurdly, he thinks of putting his hand on the back of her neck, massaging out those tight knots, that hard carriage that will surely end in a headache, but that would singularly inappropriate, singularly improper.

For a brief minute, Carson wonders if she could possibly be referring to him, to untoward thought she has managed to read in his mind, in his secret heart. As soon as the thought comes, he dismisses it; he has guarded those dreams too well, erected a wall too dense for her to see through.

Surely he has.

His hand drops, and he leaves.


End file.
